De Ida
by cori
Summary: We were speeding fast, like we were flying and we were out there and it was a one way trip. There are no names mentioned, but I wrote it with Brian/Curt in mind. Read/Review!!


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**_Title:_**_ De Ida _

**_Notes:_**_ um. there are no names! i dont think... but it's curt and brian or yeah._

**_Summary:_**_ We were speeding fast, like we were flying and we were out there and it was a one way trip. _

**_Rating:_**_ PG for a little bit of language_

**_Pairing:_**_ B/C_

De Ida

He stands at your door, perfect and shining in wet, wet glory. His hands clenched and curled around something, anything. Softly he leans his body against the door frame and no, he doesn't need to ask you. You just nod and go back to get your worn, torn, loved and so almost dead leather jacket from the chair. You're going now. With him.

He speeds fast and hard and you feel like maybe your falling ok of something, anything. The wind eats your tears and his, even though you can't see them. This is the end and you know it and he knows and no one can deny it because this IS the end. You can remember a time when you thought that it wouldn't end, that you wouldn't end up dead and dying. You remember when you were almost sure of beauty. It's odd, the things you remember at times like this. It's odd that when you both agreed to this -- and you did agree-- that you didn't think about how hard it would be to let go, didn't think about the memories.

"I want to be beautiful forever."

"Me too."

"Do you still have it? What I gave to you?" Your not quite sure why he felt the need to talk, the silence was so good. Damn him for always ruining the good things. And damn you too. Because wasn't it you? You who said, 'ok'? Well this is not ok and it will never be ok again. 

You are so nervous and so antsy that you don't realize something, anything. You have to whisper because he had to talk. So. Damn you too plus one.

"I'm sorry, baby."

"No you're not."

And he's right. So. Damn him plus one, too. You'll never be sorry not for this. Never.

The car's slowing down slow, slow. Dying down sort of like you and now you've got yourself feeling vaguely sorry for the car. Fucking blue cars.

The car stops and he swings the door open harshly. Soft eyes, softer than before, turn to you and you've never seen him more beautiful. You have never hated him more. 

"I hate you." You whisper.

"I know."

His lip is trembling gently and you almost find it humourous. Almost. "Come here." And he does, he always has. You hold him to you gently. "Why is it always like this with you? Always extreme?"

He looks at you with glorious wet eyes, shining in the midnight. "I'm not extreme." 

"Have you been doing it again?"

"What?" He flashes you smile like nothing, something, anything. Fucking innocence. You don't have time for this, but you do. You have all of the time in the world. Gently you take his arm in you hand. You notice the sweater, black and thick, warm. You remember how he told you once, slightly dazed and dizzy, remember what he told you. He said he was always cold, always crying. He was sick of the. He told you. He was almost like now, but younger, more ok. 

"I don't care anymore."

"I've never cared, not for me."

"I know."

"No you don't, but it's ok." And ok once again. You hate that word, that not word, that something, anything. Ok is never ok. You let him go and climb over the front seat, into the back. You stand tall on unsure ity on blankness. The road curves beautiful in front of you, it curves incredible. The road is destiny to sin; you've never been there before. And perhaps that is why he has brought you here, to this empty place. Maybe he brought you here to experience the unknowing ness of life and death. "Come up here." You look down at him, his hair glimmering and sweeping over his face. "Come on."

You stand together, feeling the night wash over you, feeling the begining of the ending. 

"Do you still want this?" And he's afraid. He should be. You should be, but you're not.

"Let's go." From here on its will be a one way trip to something, anything, maybe nothing. 

The car starts and you're pulling off into the sunset. Sunsets are so cliche. You don't care, you've never cared.

What you want for and need for is beauty and you've found it maybe. Maybe it's time to stop looking for something, anything. Maybe you've got to let it go. Nothing matters anymore, nothing. Not when you're driving and the road is stretching and he's smiling. Then maybe everything is alright.

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**_A/N2:_**_ depending on how you want to look at it, the boys could be dead at the end or alive..._


End file.
